


The Visitor

by celestial_light



Category: Star Wars: The Clone Wars (2008) - All Media Types
Genre: Alien Culture, Angst and Hurt/Comfort, Jedi Culture & Tradition (Star Wars), Kel Dor Culture, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-12-18
Updated: 2020-12-18
Packaged: 2021-03-10 23:33:34
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,383
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/28155399
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/celestial_light/pseuds/celestial_light
Summary: Every Jedi has their unique relationship with the Force. Mace can use Shatterpoint, Anakin receives visions, Obi-Wan can see the past, and Plo can see ghosts.Not just Force ghost--all ghosts. Such a feat makes being a General incredibly difficult.OrPlo helps Wolffe make peace with a dead vod, and in turn makes peace with his gift.
Relationships: Plo Koon/CC-3636 | Wolffe
Comments: 4
Kudos: 58





	The Visitor

**Author's Note:**

> I've had this idea for a while. A short explanation of my Kel Dor headcanons-they do not die of old age, and can live for ever if they chose. However, many of them willingly release their souls into the universe when they get to a certain age, as they all believe in reincarnation and want to fulfill another role in life, or want to remain in the cosmos with a loved one. Therefore Plo is not used to seeing dead people until he becomes a Jedi. 
> 
> You can read more about my kel dor hcs [here](https://myinkandtrees.tumblr.com/post/635182964669546496/i-really-love-the-idea-of-the-wolfpack-realizing)!
> 
> I'm also my own beta, so please beware of spelling errors.
> 
> Anyway, enjoy! Tell me what you think! I tried to make it a bit of a psychological thriller/angsty ghost story. Enjoy!

All Jedi had their unique, special relationship with the Force. It was what made the Jedi Order so spectacular. If all every Jedi could do was move objects telepathically from one side of the room to the other, and deflect bullets with their sabers, then the Order would not be incredibly beneficial to society as it stood.

And while a great deal of younglings and knights had prided themselves in such techniques, the true purpose of one’s relationship with the Force was finding their gift that set them apart from the others. 

Mace could use Shatterpoint, Anakin received visions, and Obi-Wan could see the past. Even Ahsoka’s gift had begun to rear its head in the form of split-second premonitions before the death of a trooper. She’d saved so many lives relying on such a gift. 

Even his niece, Sha Koon, had developed a useful gift of her own, manifesting her Force into the Earth, thus growing plants at an unnatural rate. She could alter any terrain within minutes, often hiding and covering her troops when she’d been in combat. 

  
Such wonderful gifts, all like billions of tiny lights in the Force. 

And then there was Plo Koon. Who could see ghosts. Not Force ghost. Actual ghost of those who had passed. 

High Counselor, esteemed Jedi Master, Baran Do Sage Plo Koon could only see ghosts.

Of course this wasn't the only thing he could do. The Jedi Master had an array of other techniques exclusive to his species. But those were just due to his biology and his general training as a Jedi, and thus not considered a gift of the Force. 

It was laughable, almost. Seeing ghosts as a Kel Dor when their species was so unaware of death made him an anomaly to his people, and quite frankly to himself. Kel Dor did not die of old age, they simply did not. There weren’t legions of ghosts or vast graveyards littering the planet. The only recorded deaths were those of accidents and murders--of planet deaths.*

  
  


Therefore, during his stay in the temple as a youngling, Plo had nearly screamed at the sight of one of the old creche masters, dead for at least a week, waltzing through the beds and bending thoughtfully over each sleeping form. Gentle he placed atop reach of the children’s forfeits, gliding (Plo had nearly passed out when he realized the man had no feet or legs) until he stopped beside Plo’s bed. At the time Plo had thrown himself underneath the covers, whimpering as cold, icy lips brushed the top of his head and vanished. It wasn’t until sunlight did Plo throw his covers off, and ran like hell into the living creche master, crying as trapped tears behind his goggles irritated his eyes. 

He had been briefly escorted to the Halls of Healing, where the Healer there at the time had given him a brief crash course of Force gifts and how such gifts manifested in each species. Though she used calming words at the time, Plo was not pleased nor happy. And thus the first day he had learned about his gift, he had just as quickly found a way to curb its potency. A daily medication had been given to him in the form of a pill vial, and Plo had put such a useless “gift” to rest. 

And then Tyvokka died. Plastered by blaster bolts as he flung Plo out of harm's way.

Presently, Plo did not know why he saw his master after his death. Perhaps it was grief, such a powerful yearning to see the man who had raised him once again. Powerful enough to influence the effects of the medication. That, or they were caught in the middle of a war, and the ritualistic consumption of his medication had been lost in the midst of blaster bolts and saber swings and the miasma of despair everywhere. Plo didn’t know who was dead  _ or  _ alive (Jace* had assured the frantic Kel Dor that he was living, and that most men and women on hsi platoon were as well. He’d designated himself as Plo’s personal ghost hunter though). 

He only realized it had gotten bad when he’d woken to Tyvkoka sitting atop of his bed, furry palm (cold--very cold now) stroking his forehead until he’d finally succumbed to sleep. 

After the Stark Hyperspacewar, Plo had upped his dose. And for a short, peaceful time, the dead had not distrubed him. 

The _ Malevolence _ had nearly threatened to break his streak though. Did break his streak. 

It was the first time Plo realized that the dead could be angry. They had been rightfully furious that they had died as they did, that a Jedi of all could not sense their impending doom. That, or Plo wondered if his own self-anger and loathing had poured into his visions. If somehow the Force, his gift, and his medication had banned together to punish him.

  
Regardless, it had been awful. Sleepless nights, double takes in the corridors (had he seen Wolffe? Had it been a dead trooper? Had it been the Force), hiding from the shadows, questioning each and every interaction he’d had amongst he and his men (where they were living or dead? Had Wolffe died on the Malevolence? Was this his ghost conversing with him, unaware that he had passed in the icy depths of space?).

Regardless, he had upped his dosage again. His use of the Force had been dulled, thought it was a viable trade for peace and quiet. 

\-----

Plo Koon stood alone silently beside the ready table, looking at the projection of maps and ship schematics that Skywalker had provided them with. Around him, conversation between Kenobi and the others dulled, exhaustion tugging at the corners of his psyche. The moment he boarded his ship, he had been forced to convene with Generals Windu, Skywalker, and Kenobi about an upcoming strike behind enemy lines. 

His medic had given him a solemn shake of his head while Plo ran to the meeting like a student late for lessons. Upon finding himself there, he had immediately noticed his Commander’s absence.

He made to call Wolffe, though stopped abruptly when the younger man entered the fray. 

When Wolffe arrived into his briefing nearly two minutes late, Plo knew something was amiss. To the others, such tardiness raised no alarm. Afterall, of the generals and clones standing around the table--Skywalker had been late nearly every time, often accompanied by his flustered captain who ran to keep up with him, Kenobi had once sent Ahsoka with a note reading, “Unable to make it, migraine. Ahsoka will fill in. Cody had arrived late with Kenobi, often with only ten minutes remaining, and Mace often moved meeting times around and if possible had them over lunch. 

Plo was the only general, it seemed, with a knack for punctuality, and Commander Wolffe had nearly outshone him on that aspect. 

Therefore, such an absence, no matter how small, had raised alarm bells in Plo’s head. Neither he nor Wolffe had seen each other as of recent, much to the dismay of them both. Plo had been shipped to the Outer Rim alone by the Jedi Council to investigate old Sith ruins. It was these missions he had refused a squad for. His men’s trauma with the Sith, Wolffe’s trauma with the Sith, would not be ignored. And Plo enjoyed such missions alone, no matter the danger. He found solo missions an opportunity to unleash his full strength, and to tangle with darkness as he had in his youth without fear of losing his men. 

Of course, the 104th despised it, and many nights locked together in Plo’s private quarters, did Wolffe voice his concern and opposition. Such concerns were typically put to rest with a gentle press of foreheads, or a well placed clawed caress. 

Though today on the Starship, Plo thought that his mission was ill timed. For one glance at his commander told him the man hasn’t slept for ages, and the tenderness around his eyes suggested he had been crying. 

This was the first time they had seen each other since Plo left a month ago, and Kel Dor wanted nothing more than to embrace his distressed commander and beg to know what had bothered him. It wasn’t Plo’s absence, he knew that for a fact. Despite all the Commander’s grievances, he had made peace with the fact that his general was a Jedi, and highly skilled at that. It would be a disservice to keep him tame when he was needed. 

Yet eliminating one cause had not provided him the answer he searched for.

Thus for the duration of the meeting, he had set himself beside his commander, taloned fingers intertwined with Wolffe’s. He was just grateful the younger man took them, as in his darkest moments he refused to accept comfort. Neither jedi nor clone in attendance said a word about their close proximity, not even a peep as Wolffe shifted his weight onto his general. 

\--

Plo had gotten his answer in between sobs, Wolffe breaking the moment they’d made it to the General’s private quarters. 

Through tears, Plo had pieced together the story. Wolffe had fallen out badly with a brother nearly two weeks ago. And not just any brothers, his batchmate. They had said very unkind words about each other, bordering the “I wish you were gone” or “I’d be better off without you”. And as fate would have it, the entire platoon was massacred in deep space. Plo had sighed, knowing all too well what memories the tragedy had conjured, and rubbed circles in Wolffe’s back until he fell asleep. He knew how the troopers viewed last meetings. Never to end in anger, only peace, for who knew what the next day held. Wolffe had seemed to break the unspoken rule, and was punishing himself according. 

  
  


Only when his breathing had fallen steady and the Force had assured Plo that Wolffe would not wake, did he address Boost and Sinker, who had parked themselves outside of the General’s quarters in an attempt to offer what comfort they could to their commander. 

It wasn’t his intention, but Wolffe seldom opened up to them, despite their relationship. And when he was upset and unwilling to share the burden of his pain with others, he’d often become downright snappy. Snappy to the shinnies, snappy to his veterans, and downright abysmal to Boost and Sinker. It wasn’t his intention, but he did it. 

They were frustrated, clearly. They cared about Wolffe, yet such care only resulted in temper tantrums and emotional constipation--as Sinker had called it. And Wolffe cared about them enough to never burden them with his sadness, but Force, Plo would have to teach him the benefit of sharing pain with others. 

And as Plo found himself stepping out of his room after dealing with Wolffe, he knew he’d stepped right into another budding conflict.

After giving them permission to use his quarters , he left them to await their brother’s awakening and had directed himself to the bridge. With his room occupied by his officers, he supposed his presence could be used elsewhere. Despite his exhaustion, he doubted he could sleep even if he tried. He was a nocturnal creature by nature, and thus watching the blue and white rays of hyperspace seemed somewhat preferred to walking the ship like an aimless ghost. 

And Wolffe’s emotions had impacted him more than he typically allowed, and he felt himself needing to shake off the excess energy. 

  
  
  


\--

The general assumed his position on the bridge, hands poised behind his back and gaze set forward into the endless rays of blue and white. Hyperspace held a special place in the old Kel Dor’s heart, such memories of Jace, Qui-Gon, Adi, Obi-Wan and Master Tyvokka stirring. 

Lost deep in thought, Plo was aware that he had moved very little in the last few minutes. Such was common when the old Kel Dor found himself drifting back to the past. He could stay still and rigid for hours. 

Therefore, Plo was grateful to his crew for leaving him be. They were no doubt used to their general’s odd ticks and habits, and allowed their gazes to linger just momentarily before returning to their work. 

That said, the general was startled when a presence ignited beside him. He registered it as a trooper, though given no one else had come to the bridge since he had, and of those who were currently there, were occupied in their tasks, Plo was curious as to it could be. 

“Sir, you are General Koon?” To his side, the mystery tropper introduced himself with a formality not heard since Commander Wolffe had been assigned to him. 

The Jedi turned to his side, poised to speak. Though immediately, Plo’s words hung in his mouth. 

Beside him stood a trooper, same as any other. Right from the identical face to the standard combat armour, save for the dark maroon kama and additive armour typical of a commander. That, and the light sheen of ice dusted across the man’s face and armour.

Plo felt his heart drop to his stomach, and all at once was forced to recall the last time he had taken his medication. That morning, correct? Or had he. Plo had ended his mission earlier that day, and had immediately returned to his ship to make it to his briefing on time. But it was habitual, he had to have taken it, even if he didn’t remember. 

“Is Wolffe here?” He followed his question with another, “I would like to speak to him, and don’t have much time left, sir!”

Plo was at a loss for words. Perhaps the Sith temple had influenced his medication, or even his perception of time. Regardless, pondering on how he’d gotten here would not change the fact that there was a ghost standing beside him, eagerly hanging on by a thread.

His fear of ghosts began to present, and he felt his form go stiff beside the trooper. 

His Force signature must have faltered, for the clone troopers around him cast wary glances towards their General. Immediately he schooled his Force signature, making it move past the ghost standing beside him. 

“Sir--” he matched the Kel Dor’s step in tandem, effectively preventing him from moving lest he wanted to walk through the ghost. 

“I don’t have time sir, I need to know if you can help me find Wolffe,” the ghost spoke with desperation, cold, icy hand gripping his upper arm. Plo jolted, a high pitched noise emitting deep within his throat. The chill had not been felt since The Stark Hyperspace wars, where the living and the dead mingled amongst each other. They didn’t bother the other Jedi as they had Plo. 

He felt cold. Colder than cold. As if no amount of warmth could melt the ice that had enveloped his body. 

It reminded him of the creche masker, legless and masquerading amongst the children, placing icy kisses on their foreheads until they dwindled into the Force. 

“Sir, are you alright.” A warm, gentle hand jostled Plo out of fear. The General nearly jumped out of his skin, only calming when he registered the trooper beside him as living and breathing. 

“I’m fine.” His answer was unconvincing, and the clone's expression was quite concerned. And unfortunately, Plo did little to quell their fears, as he took to frantically moving his head to look for the ghost. 

Great--he was no longer there. Free to terrorize Plo in his sleep. 

“You should go to the medbay, General.” The clone beside him tightened his grip on his arm, just slightly though. Around him, Plo took note of other troopers, all cautiously peering at their General. 

“Of course!” Plo said, a bit too excitedly. Such a response seemed to upset his men more. 

“Do you want us to go with you?” Asked another. 

  
“You’re not yourself, General.” Added a trooper. 

“It’s fine, really!” Plo attempted to ease up the situation, not wanting to report his unusual behavior to the Commander, “Just...kel dor things…*”

“Oh, well, you can still go to the medbay for that too.” The trooper at his arm suggested, “they have pain medication and things like that.”

“I’ll be on my way, then.” Plo smiled behind his mask, slightly guilty that he had lied to his tropper. But he’d rather blame his distress on biology than the literal ghost haunting his ship. Nevertheless, the trooper released his grip, sending his General off with concern. 

\--

Plo had no intention of stopping by the med bay, and had nearly walked to his quarters before realizing his troopers were in there. Thus, Plo found himself alone in the cargo bay, settling down cross legged with the intention of meditation. Since the mission at the temple, to the impromptu therapy he’d given Wolffe, Plo’s exhaustion had kicked in. 

Not to mention, his stress levels were elevated due to his encounter with the dead. 

Though sleep eluded him, and with so little time to himself and the Force, he felt meditation would be best in this situation. 

“General, I  _ need  _ to find Wolffe.” 

The ghost announced his presence, disembodied voice racketing off the walls. Plo felt his heart drop once again and refused to stand or look behind him. Instead he stared forward, eyes locked on a crate. 

“I know you see me, Sir. I mean you no harm, I just need to talk to him!” All at once, Plo gasped as the trooper’s agony leaked into the Force. It was if the Jedi was thrown into a different time and place. No longer was he sitting cross legged in the cargo bay, rather he was floating in the barracks behind a pair of troopers. 

There was an argument. Violent, hateful words spewed between them. Rageful words which never should have been spoken amongst brothers. 

And then...there was Wolffe. 

This was..this was Wolffe’s brother. 

He was thrown back to the present, eyes wide behind his mask. 

“ _ You. _ ” Plo gasped, “It’s you. The brother Wolffe fought with before he died.” 

“Yes, Sir. It is me.” The trooper seemed happy, still nervous, but happy he was heard, “And I’m running out of time. That “one with the Force thing” you Jedi all talk about is no joke. But it wants me sir, and I mean I want to go. B-but I have to make peace with my brother before I do.” 

“Of...of course.” Plo turned towards the trooper, “I..I apologize for avoiding you earlier.”

Plo was then blindsided by the warmth that radiated from the trooper, his smile like the sun. It was like the ice melted off of his body, and the cold that had entrapped both he and Plo disappeared in a heartbeat. There was only warmth. 

“No worries sir--” 

“Plo, you can call me Plo.” The Kel Dor corrected, extending a taloned hand. He braced himself for the cold, but was relieved when he was greeted by heat like the summer. 

“Okay, Plo. Well like I was saying, I don’t have much time. I just...I Just need to tell him i’m sorry, and that I don’t hold anything against him and I hope forgives me,” the trooper said, words jumbling together, “The fight was stupid, we never should have had it and I never should have started it.” 

Plo didn’t ask for details, only let the trooper ramble as he figured how to bring this to Wolffe. 

“I don’t have much time left,” the trooper said, once again, “but..but just tell him i’m sorry. And i’d tell him myself, but you know. When I see him again, I'll be sure. But now you’re the only one who can.”

The old Jedi nodded slowly, filing the conversation into his brain, just so he could conjure it up at the right time. Only when the trooper had finished, did Plo ask for his name. 

“Blather.” The ghost--the trooper--Blather had spoken, “My name is Balther.”

“Very well, Blather. Thank you for trusting me with this,” Plo spoke, inclining his head in gratitude, “I will take this to him immediately.”

“Thank you, Plo. I really mean it.” Said Blather, looking over his shoulder at what Plo assumed was the Force, or the Mandalorian deity that his men sometimes spoke of, or both. Regardless, Plo knew that his time with this man was limited. 

Blather stared at the Kel Dor for a long moment, amber eyes locking with goggles, and though Plo knew his eyes were obstructed, he had a feeling that Blather could his eyes. 

“I’ll go now. I know how much you care about one another,” he sighed, turning away, “And between you and me, I think he made a really good choice with you.”

And as quickly as he had come, Blather was gone. Leaving Plo to deliver the news to his commander, as well as ponder on what those last words meant. 

\--

He hesitated before he stepped into his quarters, Blathers words ringing in his head. One sweep of the Force told him that all three troopers were sleeping, thus waltzing into his bedroom and settling himself onto the chair beside the bed was simple. They’d made use of his bed, all three finding a way snuggle underneath the blankets, packed together like sardines. 

That was fine, their slumber gave Plo the time he needed to catch up on his meditation. Or so he thought. 

“General?” Blurry eyed and tired, Wolffe untangled himself from his brothers, careful not to disturb them, “sorry we took your room. If you want, we can move to another.”

Plo raised a hand, “Wolffe, there will be no need for that. I’ve just come here to say a few words and then will take my leave elsewhere.”

Wolffe nodded, cybernetic eye illuminating the darkness, “What’s going on, Plo?.”

Plo sighed. Unsure of how exactly this would be taken by the Commander. This was such a sensitive conversation, and Wolffe had just begun to heal. But he had a promise to keep. 

“What I say next may be...difficult, but please listen until the end. I wouldn’t have told you this if I didn't make a promise,” He sighed again, “but it needs to be done. Though I should hope it would give you the clarity you need to move on.”    
  


Wolffe looked downright horrified, and what fear and sadness Boost and Sinker managed to quell had come back tenfold. The Commander was clearly at a loss for words. 

And Plo nearly was as well. For when he spoke next, Wolffe would not be the only one confronting a fear.

“Very well-Blather paid me a visit an hour ago. He wanted me to tell you that he’s sorry about the argument you two got in, and that he holds no anger towards you. In fact he’s forgiven you, and hopes that you can do the same to him.”

It came out stale, almost like a practiced business speech. It felt like acid on Plo’s tongue, but he was processing it too. 

“Blather..but..but..he’s dead. How did you Sir?” Wolffe was fully awake now, face near drained of blood, “Jedi shit..”

“No, Wolffe. This...this is just ‘Plo shit’” The Kel Dor admitted realing exactly where and what he’d be forced to say next, “i-each Force sensitive individual is granted a gift from the Force. Mine is to see the dead. Blather came to me a little while ago, asking me to deliver this information to you.” 

“He came to you? To-to apologize?” Wolffe barely managed, his voice a shrill whisper as to not disturb his men, “I-is he here? I want to speak to him, Plo.”

And thus Plo added on another layer of agony to his gift. Not of fear, but of sadness. The dead did not remain forever. In the past, Plo would have celebrated such a prospectt, but now his commander stared at him wanting an answer he could not give. 

“I’m afraid he has marched away, Commander.” Said the Kel Dor, solemnly, “but not before asking me to deliver this message to you.” 

He watched in sorrow as Wolffe’s face crumbled, and the composure he fought so hard to contain broke into a million pieces. Plo embraced him instantly, shushing his cries as he moved them both outside of his bedroom and to the corridor. They slid down the wall together, Plo drawing his Commander into him and placing a forehead against his. 

No one would bother them here.

“He forgave me? But I said such awful things.” Wolffe choked, “How could he forgive me?”

“From the sound of it, Blather spoke words that he regretted as well. You both spoke in anger, but meant little of what was said. Blather has recognized this and moved on. You must too.” Plo stroked his Commander’s hair with a claw, “forgive yourself, as you have forgiven Blather. As he forgave himself.”

Wolffe stayed silent for some time, though already Plo could tell that considerable tension had escaped the Commander. Plo continued to stroke his commander’s hair, purring just slightly to relax the man below him. 

The two stayed like that until Wolffe slept, and gently he carried the Commander back to the bed with his brothers, settling into his meditative stance on the floor when he finished. 

He was grateful that Wolffe did not inquire about his gift, and hoped to the gods he would not in the future. Though he would not downplay how grateful he was to Blather for making him respect and acknowledge his gift. It was a slow, and steady process, but some progress was better than none. 

He was still afraid. Blather was just one ghost out of the many he would no doubt encounter in the future. But if this one meeting could bring Wolffe peace, then what could it do for others? Would it not be selfish to covet this gift from his men? 

How many loose ends could he tie? 

  
With steady breaths, Plo let himself be enveloped by the Force, silently thanking Blather for his role in all of this. 

And when a wispy, disembodied voice responded, Plo was not frightened. 

**Author's Note:**

> *I have a headcanon that Kel Dor doesn't die of old age, and if they choose to “die”, it’s releasing their spirit into the Cosmos. They typically only do this when a life partner dies, but other than that Kel Dor can live forever. 
> 
> *Jace Dallin is friends with Plo, and he met him during the Stark Hyperspace wars. Their friendship canonically lasts until Plo dies, and Jace dies speaking up for the Jedi against Vader. 
> 
> *Just Kel Dor things refers to Plo’s different biology. In my HCs all Kel Dor go through similar reproductive related cyles and things related to it. Plo goes through it too, and typically he’s irritable and in pain. Most of his troopers know about it.


End file.
